Penny for Your Thoughts
by Objessions
Summary: A tag to Episode 4 X-ray & Penny because it was too good not to play with a little. As ever, I own nothing about these characters or their world, other than my own enjoyment of goofing off there. J
1. Chapter 1

_A/N - I was going to finish my other tags first, but this one is too good not to have some fun with._

For early autumn, Paris had turned out to be colder than he expected. He was glad he'd actually checked the weather before hopping on the last-minute flight, rather than trusting his experience, because normally France in the fall was stunning blue skies and pleasantly warm days.

He would have gone inside the café, but it was crowded and he needed to be alone. He probably should have ordered something to eat, in fact he could almost hear Jack … and let's face it, even Bozer, and making some approving _mmmhmm_ noise from off to the side, Riley, nagging him about it.

Actually, it was Bozer's voice he'd heard in his head when he ordered the bottle of wine he had every intention of drinking all of before he made his first phone call to the professor's office. "Mac, don't let this search for your dad put you in your own head again like you got after all the stuff with Nikki." Mac had insisted it wasn't, that he was fine. Bozer had just raised an eyebrow at him and asked, "Sure. How many miles this morning, Mac?" He'd looked away and then answered honestly that he'd run eight miles. "And you're saying no to breakfast? Get him out of your head and eat your damned waffles."

If anybody knew what Mac being in his own head looked like over his missing father it was Boze, he supposed. He was grateful that Bozer hadn't asked his destination when he'd seen Mac with his carryon bag. He'd just wished him a nice mini-vacation and gone into the lab. That would save him from lying to Jack when he inevitably showed up at Mac's house.

Mac wasn't even sure why, but he didn't want to keep dragging Jack along on this probably futile search. Mac also thought if he found his father and Jack was with him, while Jack might say he just wanted whatever Mac wanted relative to his dad and that was what was important, he was maybe more than an average amount of inclined to punch the guy. Mac didn't want to manage their reactions to each other.

He didn't quite want to admit, even to himself, that he had no idea how he was going to react if he found his father. The guy had basically abandoned him almost twenty years ago, and all this leaving clues and chasing him down like he was the freaking treasure in one of the movies Boze liked to watch on Sunday afternoons was … complicated.

He also wasn't sure how he would respond to having both of them in the same place himself; the man who'd abandoned him when he couldn't yet take care of himself, and the man that never would, not really, even though he knew often Mac was the one to take care of both of them. He felt like every nerve he had was just a little raw. It was wearing him down.

He started playing with his Swiss Army knife. He smiled a little when he used it to open the bottle. The server offered to do it, but he'd just shaken his head. He actually sort of wanted to have this glass of wine with his grandfather, in his own way. That gift, it had been the first thing that let Mac feel back in control after his dad left, since his mom died, really. Sipping his wine, and caught up in his memories about his grandfather and how the man had tried to lift the weight of his father's absence, Mac lost track of his surroundings.

When Jack sat down at the table, Mac nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd booked and paid for his flight and room with one of his cover identities, been assiduously careful not to mention his plans or leave a paper trail. And he'd flat out told Jack that he was just taking a long weekend to rest and relax, maybe sleep in a lot. Getting almost blown up by a nuke and then chased out of the country practically by a hit squad, even if the leader of had sort of flirted with Jack, wore a guy out. Mac thought he'd covered all his bases for Jack to just sit home watching football, drinking beer, and ordering takeout. But here he was in all his glory. Jack Dalton. Clearly prepared for a lecture.

Mac felt his irritation flare. And the worst part was, Jack was right. He hated that. A lot. But he also hated being treated like a kid. "You tailed me from the airport," he said. It wasn't a question. It was more of an accusation.

"I'm just doin' my job, Mac. I'm your bodyguard."

God, it bugged him when Jack put it that way. It was technically true, but Team Security sounded a lot less like he himself was some sort of asset, or, he had to admit, like he was some fragile piece of government property that might get broken. He knew what the reply would be, but he was so pissed off that Jack had followed him, he couldn't help asking, "Even when we're off the clock?"

For the first time, Mac could see that Jack was really angry as he answered. He was doing a better job than he usually did of keeping a lid on it. But he was almost as upset as he'd been when Matty sent Riley on that mission alone. Mac felt his defenses go up at that. Jack saw it and, angry as he was, he tried to soften what he was saying.

Mac hated being treated like a kid. He'd hated it when he still was a kid, so now, even sick or hurt or scared to death, Mac was more likely to close people out than he was to let them in. That wasn't what Jack needed right now. "Look, I know you can blow your own nose, man," he began.

Mac felt his eyes roll as Jack continued. Because the 'I know you're not a kid' speech always came with a 'but', and this one was no different. Mac tried to defend his actions. Infuriatingly, Jack just kind of tore apart his defense. And the worst part about that was he was right again. And he sounded sorry about it.

Mac tried explaining his need to do this alone, but he could tell Jack knew his explanation wasn't honest. Cage might impress Matty with her people reading skills, but Jack was much scarier in that department as far as Mac was concerned. Cage only saw facts about you. Jack saw feelings. That was terrifying at moments like these.

Jack chided gently, "Look, how'm I supposed to look out for ya if I don't know what continent you're currently on?"

Mac's reply was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Look, just because I can't find my dad, doesn't mean I need you as a helicopter parent."

Jack had to stop himself from biting his lip. Mac didn't often admit to seeing him that way, but Jack knew he often played father figure to his young partner just like he did with Riley, and no kids had ever been loved more by a parent, he would swear before the throne of the Almighty.

But in some ways Mac needed it more than Riley. Like now. His denial of needing any support was going to get his skinny, reckless butt in a whole heap of trouble if he didn't straighten up. Jack hadn't been sure he was going to tell him about the assassin when he sat down, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Mac felt his stomach drop at the idea that he could have been so careless. Maybe this was exactly the point though. He was so used to having Jack watch his six, he was sloppy when he had to do it himself. And if history had taught Mac nothing else, it was that at some point, no matter how much somebody says they care, hell, even if they really do, and no matter how hard they try to always be there for you, eventually you were going to find yourself alone. And you'd better be able to deal with that if you wanted to survive. That was more or less what he tried to say to Jack, but without the back story.

Jack could feel himself losing his tight grip on his anger at the kid for putting himself in harm's way like this. His face was reddening and he was getting louder than he'd meant to be. Damn it. That was a surefire way to get Mac into a full walls up mood in record time, and the kid was already building one that would have made the ancient Chinese jealous. He just wanted Mac to understand why he was here. "Your problems are my problems!"

"Not anymore," Mac replied. He needed to end this conversation. Jack was making too much sense, and he just couldn't deal with it right now. He had other things to deal with. He'd be more careful from here on out. That was all.

When he more or less called Jack stupid, he felt bad. He knew better than anyone how smart Jack was. But he knew it was a button he could push right now. Matty was constantly pretending she thought Jack was less that bright and Riley used to pile on quite a bit. Riley had gotten better, but Matty had gone downhill. He wasn't disappointed with Jack's reaction. But he did sit there, quietly fuming for a while, furious with Jack for following him and stirring this all up. And just as furious with himself for letting it happen. He needed to calm down, get his day back on track, and do what he came here for.

For his own part, Jack stalked off down the street and around the corner angrily. Once he was out of Mac's line of sight though, he leaned against the building and took a few deep breaths. He was pretty pissed off, but not really at what Mac had said. Okay, that had stung, but he knew the kid didn't mean it. He was angry that Mac was taking risks like this. And even angrier that the kid didn't seem to think he was worth someone caring enough to do so alongside him, just because it wasn't paycheck related. Jack would have to work on that.

He contemplated just going home like he'd said he was going to, because he knew Mac would be watching out for tails more closely now. Unless he didn't. That was what worried Jack. So, until Mac got on the plane for home, Jack decided to stay and do his job.

As a bodyguard. Then he smiled to himself. And as a helicopter parent.


	2. Chapter 2

Mac existed for a while in a sort of dark and hazy place where he knew he was hurting, but he didn't have to acknowledge it. His brain just toyed with memories of his fruitless mission to Paris, his fight with Jack, his repeated apologetic phone calls.

He'd done the whole 'I'm not speaking to you' thing to Jack before, but it was rare that Jack ever did it to him. Maybe he'd gone too far this time, pushing his friend away. But, no. Not Jack.

That was the thing, above all others, that most characterized Jack as a friend. He forgave. It didn't matter if you deserved it; if he loved you, there was nothing you could really do that he wouldn't forgive.

And Mac knew how Jack felt about him. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, most often when he was alone, in the dark, trying to sleep, he would question it. But not because of Jack. Mac just often had the totally irrational thought that he wasn't meant to have a family, that people would leave him, that there was something fundamentally unlovable about him. It was a dark place to go.

Usually, after one of those long, difficult nights, Jack would just show up in the morning, apropos of nothing with take-out coffee and bagels and his big booming voice. He'd throw an arm around Mac's shoulders, tell him he was too skinny most likely, and feed him bagels and pretend he didn't know anything was wrong. That was usually how Mac managed to pull out of those dark places.

He was in the dark now, he thought fuzzily. Ah, hell, and he hurt, kind of everywhere. He felt cold metal under him and cutting into his wrists. His brain felt sluggish and slow and his eyes really didn't want to open. Too bad, he thought and forced them to.

It took him a minute to even process his surroundings. Well, this wasn't good. Where the hell was he? He looked around, but his eyes wouldn't focus on anything and his head swam. Maybe he could deal with more immediate problems.

Why did his wrists hurt? Handcuffs. Okay, could deal with handcuffs. But what could he use? He started testing the cuffs and trying to get a sense of the chair he was restrained in, not really able to think it through, but knowing those were the motions he should go through.

He wondered muddily if by some miracle whoever had … what had they even done? He realized he couldn't remember. As he pulled on the cuffs, an aching pain he'd been able to mostly ignore reasserted itself with a painful stabbing. It was vaguely familiar, and one he knew he hated. He took in that he was hooked to a bag of some IV solution with an unnecessarily large needle, and he began to piece together why he felt so groggy and useless, why he couldn't remember.

He did have the cheerful thought that for as much as the IV hurt, it hadn't been started by someone who was particularly expert at it. He didn't particularly want to study it, or even look at it if he was honest, but it yielded some reassuring information. There wasn't much in the way of bruising around the needle, so that had to mean he hadn't been here for long.

And the fact that he was drugged meant they wanted something. Someone who wanted something had something he could use, even if it was just their desire for information. He didn't know what good it would do, but he yelled, hoping to get whoever it was to come and reveal why he was here.

After a few frustrating minutes, he stopped yelling and just sat. The chair was cold, cutting into his back, his arms. Speaking of arms, the right one ached miserably and now that he was aware of it, he could feel the needle poking him mercilessly. And his head, it ached and swam; he could barely get his brain to function.

He started trying harder to ignore his physical surroundings and get his thoughts to order themselves. He thought he was starting to get on top of whatever the drug was doing to him, at least a little, and he was beginning to almost have an idea for how to get out of the cuffs.

Then he heard it. The unmistakable whistle of a stone-cold killer who definitely wanted him dead. Except if he was here, cuffed to a chair, and drugged to the gills, Mac didn't think it was going to be a merciful double tap. He swallowed as Murdoc descended the stairs.

When he felt the killer's liquid dark eyes on him he thought, not for the first time, that he knew what a mouse must feel like when being stalked by a cat with a playful streak added to its efficient hunting instinct. And he knew he was about to be batted around like an unfortunate rodent before Murdoc grabbed his arm and drove the IV needle in deeper.

Mac tried not to make any noise at all but god damnit, that hurt, and the drug it was delivering was lowering his defenses. However, when Murdoc let go and sat down in front of him, he did have the fleeting thought that the pain had cleared his mind some.

And since this was clearly going to be an interrogation, of the really unpleasant variety, Mac was grateful for that. Unless Jack just battered down the door, Mac's mind was the only thing between him and a messy painful death at Murdoc's hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack appreciated Matty coming out personally, appreciated how many of Phoenix's resources were already being deployed to find Mac, but he was quietly losing his mind at the moment. This was Murdoc. Not even a question.

Bozer knew it (although Jack slightly wanted to slap the kid around for selfishly having a momentary freak out about the psycho being back in their house – That psycho had Mac; but he didn't say anything because he thought maybe it was a denial thing, easier to think about than what might be happening to his best friend). Riley knew it. And Matty knew it. The fact that Cage even questioned his judgment on this destroyed the progress she'd made with him in becoming a real member of the team on the last mission. It made him want to choke her. Or shoot her. But not like fatally. Maybe in the kneecap.

Fortunately, the rest of the team backed him up. And Matty hassled him a lot, most of the time, but not today. Today he could almost see the person that he used to count as one of his closest friends. When she looked in his eyes and tried to convince him this wasn't his fault he'd nearly broken down. She saw that, knew he would hate it, so she backed off. He owed her one for that.

Besides, no one was going to convince Jack that this wasn't his fault. Sure, he'd stayed in Paris and watched Mac's back. Carefully. From a distance. But once the kid had gotten on the plane home, Jack had let his hurt feelings get the better of him and just convinced himself that Mac was fine, that he didn't need watching to get from LAX to his house. And that maybe, just possibly, if he didn't hear from the kid by dinner, he'd buy a pizza and some beer and just show up at his place like nothing happened and try to get him talking.

When Riley got the lead on the phony registration, Jack wanted to weep in relief. Even a small lead was better than nothing. And he forgave Cage for her earlier resistance to his theory since he was armed and ready to go after Mac, no more questions asked. He wanted to smack Bozer again when the kid insisted on coming with them, but he couldn't really blame the guy. Mac was his best friend, too.

The warehouse was about the worst Jack thought he'd ever felt. No Mac. No Murdoc. Nothing but a cold trail. Son of a bitch. And there was nothing, literally nothing he could do. Mac could already be …. No! Jack's mind wouldn't even let him articulate the thought. Besides, if Murdoc just wanted him dead, they would have found him riddled with holes somewhere between the airport and his house.

This was some sort of sick game. It had to be. Well, that wasn't a fun thought, but both he and Mac had been through that sort of hell before. Mac was going to be okay. He was going to get himself out of this, or at least find a way to call Jack.

Then Jack sort of wanted to be sick. He knew Mac would be thinking he was on his way, that he'd stop at nothing to get to him and get him out of whatever mess he was in. But, his brain reminded him maliciously, they'd fought the last time they'd spoken.

And Mac never quite seemed to be able to hold on to the idea that Jack was never going to just leave him like everyone else had. After all these years, somewhere down deep, Mac still didn't think he was worth caring about. So maybe he was just suffering somewhere giving up hope because he figured Jack had finally checked out on him, too.

Then Jack realized that no matter what was happening, there was no quit in Mac. He'd fight to get free, if only to piss off Murdoc, if only to prove to the sick bastard that he wasn't as clever as he thought he was, that Mac was his better. "He'll be alright," Jack said, hoping it was true, and already blaming himself for every possible outcome in which it wasn't.

0-0-0

Mac had come across a lot of truly awful people in his career, both as a soldier and as a government operative. But nobody else he'd ever met made his skin crawl the way Murdoc did. Murdoc could sense his discomfort, too; he sat just close enough to make Mac instinctively pull back in the chair he was chained to.

He wanted to be able to verbally spar with Murdoc, push him until he revealed something about where he was being kept or even just did something stupid like got close enough for a Jack Dalton-style headbutt, but his eyes kept wanting to flutter closed. He was being kept on the razor's edge of unconsciousness with this drug, whatever it was. He supposed getting clobbered awake earlier didn't help either.

He was having a hell of a time remembering what he'd just said even a minute before. And worse, he felt on the verge of tears, and he couldn't have said why. Oh yeah, because he was chained to a chair in some basement, his arm throbbing with having had a needle about driven out the other side of his elbow, talking daddy issues with a psychopath. Angry was easier, felt better, cleaner.

But then, when Mac let himself get angry, all he accomplished was hurting himself. He tried to relax, even as Murdoc moved closer, letting his skewered arm hang as straight as the handcuffs would let it. That eased the stabbing pain somewhat, let it fade to just a miserable rhythmic throbbing. That wrist would just have to deal with the cuffs digging into the raw bruises there. Bending the arm was out of the question at the moment. He rested his other wrist against his leg.

He needed to be able to think, to pull something useful from Murdoc's babbling. And his story about Cassian and his mother actually made Mac feel sick. Or was that the drugs. Mac had reached a point where, Murdoc or no Murdoc, he would have given his entire, any and all, past, present, and future earnings, and maybe a thumb or even like a kidney, just to feel clear headed again, even for a minute.

Then Murdoc had to start hinting at what he had planned. Completely without the influence of any consciousness altering drugs, Mac's imagination had done some pretty rotten things to him. Since he was a kid. It had taken him until he was much older than he cared to admit to just get over his fear of the dark. And if he was honest, while he wasn't afraid of it anymore, he wasn't exactly comfortable either. So, knowing what some of Murdoc's past victims had been subjected to before he'd put them out of their misery was enough to send his foggy brain into all sorts of unwelcome directions.

Then when Murdoc made it clear the Jack wasn't coming for him, and of all the things he'd said that was the one Mac was sure was true, he made a decision to try to escape. At least if Murdoc shot him doing that, he'd avoid what promised to be a much worse end for himself. And frankly, he wasn't going to accept defeat that easily.

As Murdoc left, he could feel himself slipping back toward unconsciousness again. If he let that happen, he didn't want to contemplate what he'd wake up to. Despite his best intentions, his head slipped down onto his chest and his eyes started to slide closed.

He pried them open and found himself staring at the IV needle sticking out of his now-bruising arm. He started at it for a minute. If he could just get that out of his vein, he bet his head would start to clear and maybe he could figure a way out before Murdoc got back. Besides, he wanted it gone. He shifted carefully and got his teeth around the line to pull it out.

God damn that hurt. He spat it out, cringing a little. He realized almost immediately that while he might have a very sore arm because that was about the biggest IV needle he'd ever seen (not that he looked really, but you had to make some assumptions based on how much you did or did not want to sabotage the car of the person poking you), Murdoc had made a big mistake using it. That was sturdy enough to maybe … Yes! He bent it with some real effort and had himself out of the cuffs in under a minute.

He stumbled around the room for a minute, evening managing to get up the stairs to look at the lock before needing to sit for a second. But he'd barely let himself balance, much less sit, on the stairs, when he bounced back up. He didn't have time to rest, no matter how sore, or sweat, or nauseous, or even ready to just pass out he was.

If he didn't break out of here, he was going to die slowly and painfully, and probably terrified. Murdoc knew too much about him. From Nikki; when she'd ordered that hit, his brain reminded him. _Not now!_ he practically shouted at himself. That wasn't going to help. He could wallow in that particular set of betrayal and abandonment issues later. Like in a clean bed. After half a bottle of Advil maybe.

Although he felt sort of hopeless, like maybe he was just to dinged up to get out of here on his own. And he felt out of resources. Then he started to really look around. This was actually looking up. As he moved around the room, making his impromptu hydraulic jackhammer, he started to feel a little more clear-headed, he thought.

When it worked, he almost fell down the stairs and realized that maybe the garbage Murdoc had doped him with hadn't lessened at all. That had probably been wishful thinking. But the door was open. He drunkenly made his way up the stairs and almost whooped with triumph when he found the drainage access, but he was with it enough to keep quiet.

He hadn't gotten very far when he heard Murdoc's bellow of rage. But he realized he'd made good progress through the pipe already since it sounded far away. But he didn't think he was moving very fast. He kept staggering into the wall, falling down into the brackish water, weaving and swaying. When he heard the singsong call, "MacGyyyyyveeerrr, come out to plaaay-aaaayyyy!" it sounded like Murdoc was practically on his heels.

All he felt was hot blistering panic in his chest and a cold terrified sinking in the pit of his stomach. He'd gotten away he couldn't get caught again, couldn't go back down there, couldn't endure any more of what Murdoc had in store for him. Trying desperately to slow his breathing, knowing he was a hairsbreadth away from hyperventilating and steadying his steps by putting his hands out, Mac turned and ran up the pipe as fast as he could go. Which, he thought fearfully, was still painfully suicidally slow.

When he emerged on the street about a half hour later, he knew he was nearly hit by at least three cars, but he only cared in a vague sort of way about it. He saw a group of people walking down the sidewalk. They looked friendly and helpful, and sane. So very sane. Although Mac had a feeling everyone else in the world was going to look sane from here on out.

He stumbled and fell, hitting the curb and surrounding pavement hard. People started rushing over. He heard voices asking what was wrong, what they could do. He was so close to slipping out of consciousness again, he forced out the only words that he could, though they were words that didn't come naturally to him. "Help me."

He heard people drawing closer, trying to do just that. Then he heard someone say, "Call 911."

And he knew that was a good idea, really. He knew what he must look like lying here on the ground, but he did muster up the energy to say something that came much easier than a request for help. "Call Jack Dalton," and then his eyes slid shut.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack had, with Matty's blessing, appropriated one of the company helicopters, and a pilot, not to mention a medic, and got across town and landed in a high school football field about a block from where the cell call came from. He left the medic in the dust running the rest of the way there.

He was glad he got there when he did, because what he found was the local EMS crew trying to approach his partner, and a very not okay looking Mac, with eyes wide and glassy with dread and something else that if Jack had to guess he'd say was some sort of sedative, half sitting up and using his heels to back away from them, supported only by one arm. The other arm was bloody and he was holding it across his body protectively.

One of the crew was squatted down on the ground near him, but not overly close, Jack was pleased to see, talking quietly. Mac just shook his head. She held out her hand and one of the others passed her an IV kit. The look on Mac's face had Jack breaking into a run. Mac wasn't a guy who was going to say, "Oh yes awesome, please stab me with sharp things," but he also wasn't prone to panic or getting irrational about his discomfort. Usually, he left that to Jack.

Mac's face said blind panic, like if they didn't back off someone was going to get a lesson in not assuming just because a guy looked like a college freshman who was maybe on the track team, he wasn't trained in deadly hand-to-hand combat. Jack put the brakes on the situation going south with a soft, friendly, "Hey there," as he got close enough and slowed down.

Mac looked up at him, his relief instant and visible to anyone anywhere close. "Jack!" Mac started to try to get up and immediately sat back down hard.

"Hey, there, bud," Jack said, hunkering down next to his partner and putting a hand out, letting Mac see his intention in case the kid wanted to pull away. Whatever happened to him was bad, and Jack didn't want to make anything worse.

Now that he was close, he could see Mac's pupils were dilated and he was swaying with the effort of keeping himself upright. Drugged. _Oh, that son of a bitch_. Jack promised himself he was going to kill Murdoc, but not quick like. He wanted some time with the bastard.

Mac took a slow shuddering breath and let it out with almost a sigh when Jack settled his hand on Mac's shoulder. Jack gave it a gentle squeeze and he felt Mac relax fractionally. Then Jack looks at the EMTs around him. "Hi. I'm Jack Dalton. My boss was supposed to call your dispatch?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"She did," the woman closest to Mac confirmed. "She said you were en route but to go ahead and begin treating him, preparing him for transport, but … he won't let us get near him. She said he's your partner and he's been a kidnapping victim?"

Jack was surprised Matty would have shared that much. "Yes, ma'am. But I got a medic with me, so you all are good to clear the scene."

"He seems like he's not in very good shape …" she fumbled for what to call this man in terms of rank or title, but lacking any information, she settled on, "Mr. Dalton. If we can be of any assistance ..?"

Mac shook his head just enough that Jack felt it. He glanced at Mac who was giving him a very sleepy, but equally pleading look. Jack just shook his head and gave her a friendly smile. "He'll get taken care of shortly at our secure facility, Miss, but thank you all for responding out here and keeping the crowd down till I could get to him."

She gave him an awed sort of look. "What are you guys, like DHS or something like that?"

Jack gave her a little smile. "Something like that." The EMT got to her feet, but Jack held up his hand for her to wait for just a second. "Hey, Mac, buddy."

Mac blinked slowly. "Jack," he breathed again. "I need to go … um … I want to …" His head bobbed like he couldn't hold it up and then he forced it up. "Home."

Jack had to grin at the kid. Yup, that was Mac. He made sure Mac was looking right at him, although it was with unfocused slightly owlish eyes, when he said. "Go, yes. Home, no. Back to the office. Infirmary. Security. No arguments."

A familiar, slightly argumentative tone crept into his next, "Jack"

Jack just gave his shoulder another squeeze. "I said no arguing, Slick." Mac actually gave him a small smile at that. "And you are three-sheets-to-the-wind on something you didn't decide to put in your body if the way your arm looks is any indication." Mac pulled his arm a little closer to his body, but he shrugged in acknowledgement. He was starting to feel vaguely less looped. "Don't worry, bud. I'll stay with you every minute and make sure you're okay with everything. You are never gettin' outta my sight again as long as you live. Like maybe I'll letcha use the bathroom on your own, but I might get a guard dog to send with ya."

Mac managed a low chuckle at that. "Help me up." He looked at Jack, wondering why the hell the EMT was still standing there. "Let's get out of here. Too bright out. I was all wet," he added nonsensically as far as Jack knew. "But it's so sunny I'm mostly dry."

"Okay, bud. But see, I came in one of the helicopters. It's a couple blocks away. I don't think you can walk that far. So how about we let these nice folks with the ambulance give us a ride over …"

"No," Mac said emphatically. "No ambulance." Then he thought of the echoing sound the blades would make inside the helicopter and he sucked in his breath. "No helicopter either." He saw the way Jack was looking at him. "Please?"

Jack shook his head. He supposed he should be reassured that Mac was feeling enough like himself to get stubborn, but he sort of wanted to just insist. The kid looked like death warmed over. Pale and sweaty and his eyes kept trying to close. Now wasn't the time though. The kid wasn't dying and maybe he just needed to feel a little in control. Being surrounded by medical types right away or flying in his least favorite means of aerial conveyance was not going to make matters better. "Okay, bud. Whatever you need."

Jack waved off the EMTs and the approaching medic from Phoenix. Best to take this one step at a time, at least until whatever was in the kid's system backed off a little and he was more in control of himself. Tightly controlled conscious Mac could put up with a lot, even if he didn't like it, through sheer will. This vulnerable, drugged, and injured Mac was too close to what Jack always thought of as the raggedy edge to push.

Jack got to his feet and then carefully helped Mac up as well, supporting him over to a nearby bench. As soon as they were sitting side by side, Jack just put an arm around his friend. It was all he could do not to crush the man in a fierce hug, but Mac didn't look like he was up to that, physically or emotionally.

Instead he just gently encouraged Mac to lean into his side, a hint that Mac took gratefully. He leaned his head against Jack's shoulder with absolutely no self-consciousness or hesitation. Man, he was doped up, Jack thought as he got out his cell phone.

"How is he?" was how Matty answered his call.

"Half asleep, practically sitting in my lap in the middle of the street, but shaking like a leaf and refusing the ambulance or the helicopter. So, send a car." He realized that sounded like an order and she was the boss. "Please?"

"You can't just talk him into ..?"

"Matilda, just send a car. He's … Hang on." Jack turned on the video option and held the phone out so she could see the state Mac was in herself.

"I'm dispatching one to your location now," she said, sounding shaken, and he dark eyes held the sort of concern and sympathy they had back at Mac's when she'd wanted Jack to stop blaming himself. Jack appreciated that. "When he gets here, how do you want ..?"

"Not the main med bay …" Jack thought for a minute. "Maybe just one of the exam rooms. They're less … intimidating," he said for lack of a better word. "And not a bunch of people. Maybe like one or two, tops. And they better not think even for a minute that I'm …"

"No one's going to ask you to leave his side for even a second, Jack," she assured him.

"Who's on duty?" Jack asked, knowing there were a few medical staff that had a more authoritarian demeanor, at least when it came to the two of them, and thinking that someone being too pushy or getting too handsy would send Mac skating right over the edge.

"I've got Dr. Patel on the roster. Is she okay?" Matty had never sounded so deferential to her team.

"Leslie's good," Jack said, smiling a bit when he realized that Mac was snoring softly. "Nurse? And please don't say Lucy."

"How about I just tell Dr. P that she's on her own and if she needs any assistance Mac will just have to tolerate Nurse Dalton?"

"Sounds good, Matty. I see the car coming," he said preparing to end the call.

"You take care of our boy, Jack."

"I sure will," he agreed, knowing he sounded close to breaking down again. He ended the call before she could say anything else.

The driver, Evan, happened to be one of Jack's favorites. The guy could handle just about anything and was a former SEAL, but he looked like an overgrown paperboy. And he was redheaded, and just about the same size as Mac, so nothing that might remind Mac remotely of Murdoc. Jack gently tried shaking Mac awake. Mac murmured something softly. "Hey, bud," Jack practically whispered. "You ready to go?"

"Mmmm. 'Kay."

Mac dutifully struggled to his feet with Jack's assistance. Evan held the door, but kept his distance. Mac flashed him a grateful smile though when Evan asked if he wanted a blanket. He's brought one just in case. "Yeah, thanks. I'm freezing."

Jack helped Mac wrap himself in the soft blue blanket so Mac wouldn't have to use his arm, which was a real mess. Mac looked up at him still standing on the sidewalk. Jack grinned at him and gave him a wink. "Oh, you best have room for me back there next to your skinny butt."

Mac nodded. Jack climbed in and Evan closed the door. Jack picked up his arm and offered Mac his side again. "Bring it in, kid." He knew how out of it and miserable Mac must be when, once again Mac practically snuggled into his side.

They drove in silence for a few minutes and Jack thought maybe Mac had gone back to sleep when he heard Mac mumble something softly. He tipped his head down a little. "What was that, bud?"

Mac moved the blanket away from his mouth a bit. "I said I'm sorry, Jack."

"Hey now," Jack said. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for, kid. You got yourself outta that awful mess whatever it was. I'm the one who should be sorry. I couldn't find you."

Mac shook his head just a little. "No. Paris."

"Oh, are you apologizing now because you look like such a kicked puppy so I hafta forgive you?" Jack teased, hoping the kid would just drop it. Jack felt like he was going to burst into tears like a five-year-old and this was already inching him closer to the edge.

"Jack, don't. I was an ass." Mac said, sounding a little more awake.

"Mac, it's okay. This whole thing with your dad has to be hard. I just want you to be safe is all, bud."

"I wasn't even thinking about that. I was just … Doing what I do … Shutting people out." He sighed, then he moaned softly.

"You okay, bud?"

"Arm hurts. And I went down like a sack of crap on that sidewalk. I'll be okay." He sighed again. "But just, I'm … I was acting like my dad. Just because I'm looking for him … I don't want that."

Jack pulled Mac closer. "Now, why would you even think that?"

"My grandfather said my dad was the smartest man he knew. Except me. But that being smart …" Mac slowed down, he couldn't remember the exact words and he could feel the drug in his system trying to pull him down into drowsy unpleasant sleep. "Anyway, it was kind like that forest for the trees thing you like to say. That … you shouldn't let being … You get blind to …" Mac sighed in frustration.

"I get you, bud. It's okay."

"No, it's …"

"Hey, I'm the one being apologized to here, ya big dumb genius. If I say we're good, we're good. And you're nothing like your dad. You never leave people who need you."

Mac sleepily leaned tighter against Jack. "Must've learned that from you."

Jack felt his breath catch. "Ah, Mac, shit." He tried to get on top of it, but felt a single tear trickle out of the corner of one eye anyway. "I wish that was true, bud. But if I hadn't left ya, all this wouldn't have …"

"You stayed in Paris even after I was a shit to you," he murmured.

"Now how did you ..?" Jack began indignantly.

"You told me to look out for tails, Jackass."

Jack chuckled, then he sobered again. "But I left you when you got home. I was having a tantrum and then you …"

"Went to my house with my very high-tech security system that I go to every day and I opened the door without looking like a freaking rookie. It's on me Jack."

"Yeah, well …" Jack trailed off, feeling like maybe he wanted to cry again. "Guard dog. But we'll call him Big Jack. So, you don't forget that I'm waiting outside the stall door."

"That's gross, Jack," Mac said, and Jack could hear a smile in his voice this time.

"Get some sleep, kid. We'll be there soon. The more of this crap you sleep off, the better you're gonna feel."

Mac tried, but the last short leg of the ride his rest was more fitful. When they got to Phoenix, Mac was trying very hard to think clearly, to be rational, but it proved a little too much for him for a few hours. He voluntarily got as far as Medical, but at the mere suggestion that he change into a gown his tired eyes had been blown wide with almost panic. Then the suggestion was made that they needed a blood sample and to start an IV and Mac had just gotten up and taken several quick, unsteady steps toward the door.

Jack stopped him, gently though, just stepping in front of him. "Is that how your arm got all torn up, kid? An IV?"

Mac didn't answer, didn't even nod, but his expression answered Jack very clearly.

"Okay, bud. So, we won't do that," he promised.

Dr. P gave him a slight glare that told Jack he might have just made her shit list. Oh, well. Her and half the other staff down here; so what else was new? He tilted his head at her in a gesture that said very clearly that she should get the hell out for a minute. Hey, if she was already annoyed with him, he might as well go the full nine.

When they were alone, Jack talked Mac into sitting back down on the exam table, wrapped in the blanket Evan had brought him. Mac's eyes were fluttering again. He needed to rest, and soon. He sat on the table next to his partner and questioned him quietly for a couple of minutes. Not about what happened but about what he needed here and now.

Then he slid off and went to talk to the doctor. Her expression softened when he spoke to her this time. Jack said he didn't know what had happened but there had been restraint, and big stabby pointy things, and Mac being handled roughly. He was having a hard time handling the idea of being touched, and definitely of being poked with any more needles, and the very letter I and V together made him make a face that told Jack the kid might be done with Roman numerals.

She agreed to a compromise she hoped Mac could live with. Jack could clean up his arm a little, because Jack touching him seemed not only to not upset him, but to be welcome. And they would nix the idea of an IV. Jack nodded approvingly.

He hadn't wanted to drag out his cold operator face on Dr. P, but he'd been willing to. For Mac. No matter what the kid said, Jack felt responsible for his current predicament. And she would put off any kind of more thorough exam or dealing further with his arm until what was in his system had worn off a bit.

"Good," Jack said, and he turned to go back into the room to clean up the mess on Mac's arm and tell the kid to get some rest.

She stopped him. "We do need to get a blood sample, Agent Dalton. Director Webber wants …"

"Shit," Jack swore, frowning at Mac, huddled in the blanket, just trying to stay awake. "Of course you do, but …"

"But he's had a very traumatic experience and he's under the influence of an unknown substance, and while that fact is why we need the sample, you're afraid it might be a triggering experience," she said, giving Jack the disconcerting feeling that she was reading his mind.

"Pretty much," he replied, just to have something to say.

She gave him a long look, thinking. "Go get his arm taken care of. Antiseptic and some antibiotic ointment for now. Don't even worry about bandaging it."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack agreed. "What then?"

"Help him get comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jack raised a dubious eyebrow, but went and did what she said. Mac was so tired, so spent and sore and miserable from everything that had happened, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open at the moment. He had curled on his side on the table, wrapped in the blanket. Jack was a little worried that it was self-protective sleep. He'd seen people do that in the middle of a battle; just find a wall to curl up against and fall asleep after something terrible.

Then Mac surprised him by peeling one eye open. "Where'd the doc go?"

Jack wasn't sure what to do; he knew the doctor had a plan, but he didn't want to blindside Mac with the blood draw either. "Um …" Jack hesitated.

"She still needs a blood sample, for a tox screen. I don't know what Mm … what he … gave me."

Jack gave a nervous little chuckle. "I thought you might be freaked out still, kid."

"Doesn't matter. What if it's toxic? I'm a wuss, not an idiot."

"You are the least … You know what … You are the bravest person I know. Pretty much always. And definitely in this place when they start stabbing people with needles." Jack sucked in his breath. He shouldn't have said that.

Mac opened both eyes and looked up at his partner. "I'd like to believe that's still true, ya big baby. But after today I don't know … I'm thinking about it and I kinda wanna throw up."

"But you're not hightailing it out of here. Brave as a honey badger, bud."

"Save it until you know I haven't puked on your boots."

When Dr. P came in a couple of minutes later, Mac was caught somewhere between dread of his present circumstances and outright terror at seeing Murdoc's face in front of his when he'd grabbed his arm and driven that huge needle so deep it felt like it hit the bone.

He was pleasantly surprised when she very sympathetically told him that the last thing she wanted to do was upset him or trigger any associations with whatever had happened to him today. She applied so much topical anesthetic Mac thought she could have amputated his arm without it so much as stinging. Then she told him to close his eyes. Mac realized Jack must've closed his eyes, too because he felt his partner's balance waiver as he stood next to him.

He kept expecting the pinch of the tourniquet and was bracing himself for the feeling of someone tying his arm. That was almost as bad as the idea of a stabbing pain there. She realized that why he was still tense and she assured him that she could manage without one. She was finished a few minutes later and Mac was pretty sure he not only hadn't felt anything, but he wouldn't even be bruised.

She'd brought him a proper pillow from one of the actual rooms which Jack helped him get situated because it obviously hurt to use that arm, and Jack was pretty sure his partner was banged up all over, not that he'd admitted to any such thing, so matter how dopy he was. At least he let her take his vitals then, and she and Jack were both reassured by how normal the readings were.

Before she left the room, she asked him if he was comfortable or if he would move to one of the treatment rooms. He just shook his head. Those rooms were mostly small, and didn't have windows. Nope. He'd rather curl up on his side here until he could shake the cobwebs out of his brain.

She said, "Whatever you need, Mac. Based on your history, height, weight, general health, and the amount of time you were missing. I'd guess a few hours will have you feeling much better. Your vitals wouldn't be so stable if you'd been given anything truly dangerous, I think."

"Mmmm," Mac murmured agreeably.

"When you're ready I'd like to have a real look at you. Maybe do something more about your arm. But only if it's okay with you."

Mac just nodded. He really wanted to close his eyes. She left quietly to go update Matty and the rest of the team who were chomping at the bit to know how he was. And give Matty what little information she'd gotten, in hopes that it might help Tactical in their mission to find where Mac had been held from where he'd shown up.

Jack had pulled up a stool next to the table and had a hand on Mac's arm. Mac didn't seem to need the contact anymore, but Jack sure as hell did. "You doin' okay, bud?"

"Mmmm," Mac agreed. Then he murmured, "I think I don't hate Dr. P. She's alright."

Jack agreed wholeheartedly. This could have been really awful with Mac so out of his head from the drugs and whatever had happened. "She sure is, bud. Need anything?"

"You staying here?" he asked, trying not to sound too needy, but failing pretty miserably and then not quite managing to be able to care.

"I told you, bud, I'm stuck to you permanently now."

"Good. Thanks for coming to get me Jack."

"You saved yourself, kid. That was all your ginormous brain and your stubborn … the rest of you."

"No, after I got out. I was freaking out. Then you came, and I … I stopped."

"Won't have to worry about it ever again, kid. I'm legit going to follow you everywhere."

"I thought you only liked to fly helicopters," Mac said, finally starting to drift off again.

"Huh?" Jack asked.

"You're being one again, Jackass."

"And I'm good at it," Jack replied.

"The best," Mac said, and then he let himself sleep for a little while.

Until a nightmare of Murdoc yanked him awake. Then he knew it was time to get himself together and help the team find Murdoc.

No matter what it cost.


	5. Chapter 5

Here he was again. And much like the last time, he felt utterly numb. So bereft, that there was nothing left to feel, because there was nothing to hold onto.

Oh, how he hated hospitals. The chair he sat on was cold and hard and the sickly sort of burnt orange that said it couldn't be on purpose, must have resulted from the manufacturer mixing the ends of other lots to save money. And why shouldn't the place be terrible colors, stark white tile, and nauseas antiseptic smells. It was where you went to suffer, whether in a bed yourself, or on behalf of someone in one. Or worse, someone who no longer needed one.

He shoved the thought aside with a shuddering breath. When his mom had gotten sick he spent so much time in one of these places, sitting with her while she got her treatments. She used to read to him, he thought more to distract herself than anything. Then when she was too sick for that, he read to her. It was good to bury himself in a book. By that time, he'd already learned to hate the place.

When she died, he sat in a chair, just like this one, his feet swinging a good six inches above the floor, and he could hear, through the closed door of the room in which his mother … used to be mother … was, his father's inconsolable howling sobs. His grandfather had sat with him, weeping silently, occasionally whispering to him that everything would be alright, that he still had people who loved him, and that they would always be there to take care of him. Time had made a liar of that good and honest man.

Mac took a ragged breath, turning the chain that was dangling off his fingers over so he could see the medallion. Saint Therese. Patron Saint of Pilots. If only he had been in the air.

The hollow sounding speaker of the PA system sounded far off down the hall. 'Angus MacGyver please come to the Front Desk.' _Not now. I can't now. I have to sit here and be sorry_ , he thought.

People passed by him as though he wasn't there. A ghost in a hard plastic chair. He was uncomfortable; it was vaguely reminiscent of the feeling of being restrained in that sub-basement for however long. Cold, hard, unforgiving, and he couldn't leave. No one had come for him yet. Jack hadn't come, and wouldn't be coming.

The weight of the thought hit him hard and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently, as though that might somehow make it untrue, might allow him to take back what had happened. As though it might give him back time to, instead of shutting out his partner … his best friend … who was he kidding, the closest thing to a dad Mac had had since he was still counting his age on his fingers, look up from his contemplations in Paris and just say, "Jack, I'm sorry I ditched you, man. I'm scared of what this is going to be like and I don't like being scared in front of people. And you know I can never hide that stuff from you." But you didn't get time back. No one had, as yet, learned to traverse the fourth dimension. And Mac was more of an applied physics guy. He stopped shaking his head, it was making it go all swim-y again, and he wasn't going to wind up in a bed here. Jack didn't get to be taken care of, so neither did he.

'Angus MacGyver please come to the Front Desk.' _No_ , he thought again _. I'm waiting for something. Waiting for this to make sense_.

The bright white of the tile with the bluish-pink lights overhead glaring off them were giving him a pounding headache. It was the way his head had been aching when Murdoc had been taunting him, laying the groundwork for truly torturing him. Mac had been so sure Jack was coming for him, that he could endure torture if it gave Jack time. And he'd said so.

He'd known what Murdoc was going to say the second the words left his lips and that oily smile appeared on the killer's face. "To find us?" Murdoc had smiled, eyes boring into Mac's and he'd known, wanted to scream. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen. I took care of Dalton when you brushed him off in Paris, my dear boy. He was so distracted by how you mistreated him, it gave me the perfect opening. So … thank you for that."

Mac realized vaguely that he couldn't really remember how he had gotten here to the hospital where … where the body was. Only that he was here, holding Jack's stuff, waiting for … something.

'Angus MacGyver please come to the Front Desk.' _I said no, damn it! I don't want to talk to anybody but Jack, and now I can't, I can't ever again, and it's my fault, my fault …_

When his mother got sick, his grandfather had told him everything happens for a reason. And he'd stuck to that belief on just about everything that followed. So, if Mac believed that his grandfather had possessed a certain wisdom on all things people related (and since he believed that Jack had and Jack said the same thing … had said) and Mac realized he sort of sucked at the whole people thing an awful lot of the time, then he had to believe that there was a reason for this, too.

And the reason was that he had taken his friend for granted.

Mac's head dropped so he was looking at the floor. Feet passed by him, people going to see loved ones, doctors and nurses on their way to take care of patients, wheelchairs carrying the recovered toward the exits.

"MacGyver please." He ignored the page again.

Mac looked at the bloodied medallion between his fingers.

He stared past in to the floor.

There were feet standing in front of him. Feet in black shoes, a long black coat of their wearer nearly touching them.

"MacGyver."

Then he realized the floor was no longer white. It was dark, dirty.

He looked at his hands. He was still holding the medallion, but he realized his hands were still cuffed at the wrists.

"Mac!"

The stabbing, aching, miserable pain in his arm was back. He was cold, miserable, exhausted.

"Mac!"

Murdoc was shoving him back against the chair. "You don't get to close your eyes to this, MacGyver. This is on you."

He stepped aside, so Mac could see Jack's lifeless body, slumped in a chair across from him, still wearing the ridiculous hat he'd had on in Paris. A hat he'd probably gotten just so Mac would smile and give him a hard time. No physical torture Murdoc had devised could have broken Mac more completely in that moment. The choked sob he had been holding onto, found its way out of his chest, "Jack."

At least he had no idea where Cassian was being held. Only Matty knew that. So, no matter what Murdoc did, the damage would stay in this room. And, it didn't matter now anyway. "Jack," he whispered again.

"MAC!"

Mac bolted upright on the exam table he'd dozed off on, nearly sliding off. If Jack hadn't already been standing next to him, trying to shake him awake, he would have. He gasped for breath for a minute and just let Jack steady him, closing his eyes against the tears of relief that very much wanted to fall, but that he had no intention of shedding.

Jack dreamed of dying all the time. If Mac told him he'd dreamed it, too, the Human Helicopter was going to get a complex. Mac thought about opening his mouth an apologizing about Paris, but knew if he did he would definitely lose it a little. Jack leaned down to get a good look in his eyes. "How you doin', bud?"

Mac took another breath before answering. "Okay. Sore all over. How did I get here?" He paused. "Wait I sort of remember … Car came for me after I fell … you and Evan."

Jack nodded slowly. "What else do you remember?"

Mac puffed out more air, blowing hair out of his face. "That once I slept the whatever it was off … Dr. P and probably Matty and definitely you are all gonna want to be pains in my ass?" He grinned at Jack. "And I'm really glad you're here to do that."

Jack didn't even care now that Mac looked and sounded like himself if the kid got mad at him, he wrapped him in a fierce hug, although he was careful of the places he knew Mac was hurt. To his surprise Mac just hugged him back.

"You ready to deal with those other pains in the ass?"

"Yeah. I want to get Murdoc. Before he pulls anything else. I'm not letting him hurt …" Mac swallowed hard. "Anyone."

"Alright, kid. I'll be right back."


	6. Chapter 6

Mac sort of wished that the doc had done all her examining and bandaging while he'd still been drugged, because he only kind of remembered most of that. He was trying to just suck it up and deal with it, like he normally would, but it was taking every ounce of personal control he'd ever cultivated not to flinch the second anyone got into his space, say nothing about touched him.

Except Jack. Mac was back to himself enough that he wasn't about to let his partner sit next to him on the exam table now. But he was glad that he stayed. Jack was hovering and being obsessively supportive. Mac just kept giving him reassuring smiles that said he appreciated his presence.

And he did appreciate that Jack kept the rest of the team at bay until the doctor was mostly done with all her fussing, satisfied that he was as okay as he insisted he was. He at least had his shirt buttoned when everyone else came streaming in to the large exam and assessment room.

Dr. P obligingly got out of the way so Bozer and Riley could hug Mac, both being almost overly gentle. Cage hung back, eyes ranging over him in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable, but it seemed to be motivated by genuine concern for a team member, so he was trying not to take it personally that it made him feel a little like a lab specimen.

Matty surprised him. While the doctor re-cleaned, thoroughly examined, and then bandaged the mess Murdoc had made of his arm, she stepped close, putting a reassuring hand on his for a second when he swayed a little, still a bit tired and dizzy.

She said almost gently, "We're running tox screens on your blood right now, Mac." She let go and stepped back so the doctor could finish and get out of Mac's hair a little. "We should know what Murdoc dosed you with soon."

Mac had some ideas about that now that his brain was working, so he shared them. Dr. P gave him a knowing smile as she moved off to update his chart over at her computer. Mac managed to smile back a little. Nothing like getting around to the same conclusion as the doctor without them saying anything. She seemed to appreciate that he was an informed patient, even if he didn't like being a patient at all. And he liked that she didn't condescend to him. He swore that was half of why he hated doctors.

The protective look in Jack's eyes when he made it very clear that he didn't give a damn what Murdoc had given Mac so long as Mac was safe now and he got to break the killer into itty bitty pieces made Mac feel like he was going to start crying like a kid if he didn't look away. So, given the choice, he found somewhere else to look.

Then everyone started sort of talking at once about how to find Murdoc. Mac's head got fuzzy again for a minute. Things were trying to come back to him, but whatever the drug was, and he was pretty sure he was correct about its origin, it clearly interfered with memory.

That, and he didn't really want to remember. He knew it would help them find Murdoc, but … He swallowed against the taste of bile rising in his throat. Just thinking about remembering, not even actually doing it, made him feel like being sick.

Then Bozer said 'car' and the honking horns blared loudly in his ears out of the recent past.

"Cars," he mumbled, blinking away the fog that still wanted to return. "There was definitely more than one car."

Jack gave him another pained look, another wrinkled brow that said if he didn't watch his step he was going to get a crushing hug, and bruises all over his torso be damned. But Jack was also desperate to find Murdoc, to keep this from happening again, so he started asking the usual questions. Then Bozer and it seemed everyone else joined in. Mac's head began throbbing, though whether with actual pain or with crowding memories, he was never sure.

What he really wanted was some time alone with his partner to talk this through. That's what they always did, no matter the mission in front of them. And right now, he needed the familiar. He also wanted to go someplace that wasn't Medical to think, although he didn't think Dr. P was going to let him walk until the tox panel came back. As long as everyone cleared out so he and Jack could do their thing, he thought he could cope with that for a while.

Then Cage told everyone to leave. He felt one of his eyebrows go up. Did she just tell the boss to leave? Wait … Did she just tell _Jack_ to leave? Because that was about as likely to happen as Santa Claus turning out to be real and coming by and explaining himself and that whole no new chemistry set when he was twelve thing to Mac this Christmas. Then she brought up the Loftus and Palmer paper and Mac could feel his skeptical face coming on. Psychology? Now? Seriously?

He glanced at Jack who was looking at Cage like if he had a flame thrower she'd already be ash and he gave Mac his ' _this chick is loco_ ' look. Then she continued to explain the experiment and did roll his eyes a little, but he was careful that only Jack saw him. Then Jack gave him a small smile when his eyes begged the question, "Am I this irritating when I explain things?" and Jack's returned, "Well, sure, kid, but when you do it, I at least know you're not full of shit."

Although, Mac had to admit, despite the fact that as far as he was concerned psychology was the softest of the soft sciences, the paper she was referencing had yielded some interesting memory techniques he was familiar with. Sense memories were tied directly into the limbic system so it made sense that it was good for triggering more perfect recall.

Mac knew all too well that sense memory was the thing, for he or Jack or anyone they knew who'd served in combat, was the thing could send them right back there mentally, even if it was only for a minute.

Then she said definitively that she wanted only Mac and Riley in the room. Jack looked to Mac for confirmation that he was okay with that. Mac reluctantly gave him a small nod. He didn't really want Jack to go, but he recognized why Cage would want him to leave if she believed this would work. If he really remembered his captivity he was bound to get uncomfortable. The minute he showed the slightest sign of discomfort right now, Jack would step in and stop it if he could.

Jack looked the question at him again, just for confirmation, to make sure Mac didn't feel pressured into this. Mac swallowed hard. He did feel pressured, but he also remembered the dream, and he looked at Jack's concerned pinched expression, that he currently felt a little undeserving of, and gave him another nod.

Jack agreed to go, but Mac didn't miss the slightly warning look he gave Cage, not to mention the raised 'take care of our boy' eyebrows he gave Riley. Then he made sure Mac knew he wasn't going very far. "I'm not taking my eyes off you!"

Mac smiled slightly, suddenly remembering an entirely ridiculous conversation about a very unnecessary guard dog. He shook his head. How the hell did he wind up with a friend like Jack? He'd been pushing the man away when things got really real for years and Jack just hung in there, every time. Mac rubbed his sore arm and tried to force himself to make eye contact with Cage as Riley went over to her computer to scribe his observations.

When Cage started doubling down on her explanation of what she wanted to do, as though he was unfamiliar, simply because it wasn't his area (he did read things other than STEM related journals – she could ask anyone), he just decided to cut it off with the assertion that he'd learned the technique in the Army.

It was true and expeditious. He wanted this over with. And he thought he was ready. Until she told him to close his eyes. Then he felt like he wanted to be sick again. He glanced toward where Jack had gone, then back at Cage. The only way out was through. Right?

He tried to force himself to relax. When he found that was impossible, he just consciously lowered his shoulders with a long breath like he was actually relaxing, talking himself into lowering his eyelids. He shivered. Nothing came to him as relevant. He threw up his hands and just started.

Clearly Cage didn't like where he was going, or she sensed his tension, because she reached out what he was sure she meant to be a reassuring hand and put it on the back of his neck, getting incredibly close to him. First, he flinched and pulled away a little; when she didn't move her hand away, attempting to ground him he was sure, he couldn't help but shift uncomfortably again.

She was trying to help, trying to talk him through it, but until she was no longer touching him, no longer in his space, he couldn't go on. He'd had enough of someone not respecting his boundaries to last him a lifetime. Maybe if he just kept talking, he could get what they needed and get out of here.

He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly more like crying than not crying. He tightened his jaw until the feeling passed, and began again, trying to do what Cage was asking him to do. He could hear Riley start to type in the background. Remembering that she was here with him made him feel better, more able to continue.

Once he started, he found himself almost truly back in the room. His head swam and spun. The smells came back first, then the sounds, then the feelings. The stabbing pain in his arm was almost real again and he unconsciously put his hand over the bandage there now. And suddenly Murdoc was there, in his face. Just like he had been in that room. Like he had been in that dream.

Mac gasped and his eyes flew open. He looked around the room to assure himself that it was real. It was vaguely disconcerting to be glad to be in Medical, to find the environment here reassuring and even comforting.

When Cage said, "It's really normal. It lets you know the game is working," Mac glared up at her though the tousled hair hanging in his face.

Then she just started right back in on him, despite the naked fear he knew was in his eyes. He'd wondered about her story a little from time to time since Matty had brought her in, but now, as she just kept coming at him, despite how close to falling apart he felt and obviously was, that she was a trained interrogator was painfully obvious.

He was starting to sweat. His head was starting to pound. His muscles, all of them, were getting so tight, he was afraid he was going to start trembling. And he wasn't going to do that in front of her. He felt almost like she wanted him to. Like hell he would. He took a deep breath, tried stretching his neck and shoulders to forestall the oncoming storm of a headache, and closed his eyes again, almost defiantly.

As he got to the memories of escaping, it became a little easier to go on, despite the fear he remembered vividly of the time. He thought he'd been more afraid running than he had been in that chair. The chair had been bad. The idea of going back once he'd gotten loose had been suffocating.

Water moving with him. That might give them directionality. That was good. Then sounds started coming back to him again. The tunnel had been difficult to hear in. Echoing, trickling water, sloshing shoes. Speaking of, his socks were still damp. That grounded him a little more. He tried to get back to the sounds.

Sound was one of the first things he'd learned about from his father, in terms of physics. And he'd been fascinated. Light … light was cool, but sound, even if you were blind you could experience those waves, because you could feel them. That blew his mind when he was seven.

When the origin of the second sound came to him, he felt himself truly relax for the first time since everyone had come into the room. Now this was just an equation. And equations were what he did for fun.

When he started explaining it, Cage got the deer in the headlights look so common to so many people around him when he started talking math. He would almost have felt bad if he wasn't still more than half convinced that she would have been equally pleased to see him lose his shit as get the information. Interrogators could be weird. She was more than happy to just let him do his thing when he asked if she minded skipping the explanation.

He did throw Riley an apologetic glance, because he knew as well as she did that she was more than up to what he was doing and if he just threw out the numbers to her and gave her a minute, she could probably work it out just as quickly on the computer. Well, maybe that was a stretch, but it wasn't entirely outside her wheel house. He knew she didn't mind though when she gave him a wry almost smirk and just said, "Go nuts."

Once he started working the problem, figuring out the wave propagation, triangulating locations, he felt like himself, really like himself. He flashed Jack and the rest of the team a quick smile as he started writing on the glass. Jack's expression started to relax as he watched Mac work. Some of the hunted, haunted look started to come out of those eyes. He looked steadier.

Then, almost right after the whole team was back in the room, Mac pinpointed the likely location. He looked up at Jack, actually grinning. "We can go get the bastard."

Jack grinned back. "We sure will, bud. I'll give you a call just as soon as …"

"I'm going with you. I'm obviously going with you," Mac said, his expression hardening and growing immediately stubborn.

Matty started to argue with him, called the doctor over to help her argue with him, but Jack knew what this was about. Mac needed control. And he needed to be part of bringing in Murdoc. So that's what he would have.

"Guys, guys, we're just gonna have to waive protocol a little, or you're gonna have to put a big ole rush on that tox screen so you can clear him for real, Dr. P. … Mac has to go."

"Oh, really, Dalton?" Matty asked, raising both of her eyebrows about into her hairline.

"I'm obviously leading Tactical on this little shindig," Jack said with a note of almost chilling anticipation. Then he tossed a grin around the room, eyes settling on Mac. "And I already told this skinny genius I'm never letting him out of my sight again."

Mac grinned. "He did say that, Matty. I guess it's just something we're all gonna have to accept."

"C'mon, kid," Jack said, just slinging an arm around his partner and leading him out of Medical before anyone could say anything else. "Let's go gear up."

As they walked off down the hall, the rest of the team heard Mac ask, "When I was kind of out of it before, did you threaten me with a bathroom guard dog?"

"Not a threat at all," Jack laughed. "I promised you one, bud."


	7. Chapter 7

Jack had kept up his usual steady stream of light affectionate teasing while they prepped for the mission. When he stopped outside the evidence room though, he looked around almost furtively, making sure no one else was coming. "Give me a sec," he said quietly to Mac.

"Um, okay …" Mac replied dubiously, wondering what the hell Jack was up to. Then he smiled a little. Jack had to spend half his life wondering what Mac was up to, and it was usually when people were shooting at them, so he should probably just give his partner the benefit of the doubt.

Through the door, which Mac was amused to note, Jack violated protocol to leave cracked open almost certainly so he could hear if anything was going on with Mac, Mac could hear Jack flirting with the ex-FBI agent, and near retiree, who kept the Evidence Room under lock and key and made sure the less police protocol minded among the agents here, followed procedure and didn't break the chain of evidence.

She was practically old enough to be Jack's mom. Well, that wasn't fair, but she could definitely have been his babysitter, like the one parents left their kid with because they had an infant and the sitter had a car for emergencies, but she had taken an obvious shine to Jack. It made Jack practically squirm every time they went in there, so Mac wondered what he could want badly enough to go in there and actually encourage her.

Then, a few minutes later, Jack slipped out of the room, a little red in the face but grinning. "Go, go, go. Let's head down to Tactical, bud."

Mac fell into step beside Jack, who was really walking a little faster than Mac felt up to, but he kept up any way, lest Jack take it into his head to suddenly agree with Dr. P and Matty about where he currently belonged.

When they got to the locker room though, Mac sunk down on the nearest bench. Jack was immediately at his side, looking altogether ready to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder and take him right back the way they came, and then carefully wiping the look off his face for a casual, "Hey, bud. You doin' okay?"

Mac glanced up, brushing his hair out of his face with the hand that wasn't attached to the arm that was making it possible to count his heartrate without finding an artery. "Yeah, I'm good." Then he grinned when the protective expression slipped past the more 'just checkin' on my buddy' look Jack was trying to hold onto. "I'm fine, Jack. It's just … Still feel a little … woozy, I guess. It's getting better though. Fast."

Jack cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "You sure, Mac, because we can just go in there and do what we do strike and fade style while you get your bearings and maybe have another nap. I'd be back before you knew …"

"Jack, I need to go." Mac forced himself to stand, to be on even footing with Jack. "I need it."

Jack gave him a soft smile. "I get it, kid. So long as you stay behind me, we got no problems then."

"Jack, I …"

"Alright, alright … I realize I may not be able to be a human shield while we're out there all the time, but if you're goin' today, would you at least wear that new flexible body armor stuff Cage has been harpin' on everybody about?"

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Is there enough to go around yet?"

"No, sir, there is not. It's experimental. But I know you won't wear the good stuff. Tactical will." Jack paused. "I don't like you goin' out there with less than 100% of your brain on duty, Mac." Mac met his eyes for a second. "Please?"

Mac rolled his eyes, happy to find that hi headache was almost gone. "Fine. You have some for me, I assume?"

Jack grinned, pleased to see Mac so agreeable about doing something that could even slightly protect him. He opened his own locker and pulled out the flexible, almost light vest. "Sure do."

Handed it to Mac who dropped it on the bench and started unbuttoning his shirt. Jack made himself busy making sure his weapons were clean, functional, and he had plenty of ammunition. He could see Mac dressing out of the corner of his eye and bit his tongue when he realized that just the time since he'd woken up and the doc had a look and now had allowed where he'd struck the pavement, to blossom into several dark bruises.

Mac kept glancing at him, like he was waiting for him to say something as he zipped into the new vest, but Jack just kept quiet. Then as Mac was pulling on his shirt again the fabric caught the bandage on his arm and he swore. One of the words that meant he was serious. Jack stopped pretending to look at stuff in his locker and turned around.

"What's up, kid?"

"Bandage keeps pulling and … I'm just whining."

"Hurts?" Mac shrugged. "So, what's stoppin' you from peelin' it off? Doc's not around to yell atcha."

"But you are," Mac said with a grin that said that's what helicopter parents did, while it almost begged him not to.

"Kid, I have watched you superglue a dirty knife wound shut in the middle of a warzone. You wanna lose the band aid after somebody did a shit job poking one of your veins? That's a far cry from any of my business. In fact, that's mostly every time you've ever gone to Medical and they've gotten stabby. Ever."

Mac grinned, and it made Jack relax almost immediately. That was pure Mac; a little wry, a little embarrassed even, but affectionate, and a little grateful. He peeled the tape and gauze off his arm, wincing as it pulled out most of his arm hair, and tossed it in the trash, rolling his sleeves down just a little further and then finishing buttoning his shirt. "You ready?" he asked, thinking to himself that he was starting to really sound normal.

Jack nodded, checking a text. "Almost," he smiled. He fished in his pocket and took out a small evidence bag with Mac's Swiss Army knife inside. Then he tore the plastic, took out the knife, and chucked the baggie in the garbage. "Thought you might want this."

Mac was surprised to be getting the knife back. He assumed it was just gone when it hadn't been on him in that sub-basement. He reached out and took it, then gave Jack a look somewhere between grateful and worried. "Does Colton know you have this?"

"She don't care what I took out of active. And it don't matter 'cause that was in the 'Kidnapping MacGyver comma Angus' file and hey here you are, so Evidence don't need it anymore."

Mac shook his head grinned. A tool for every situation. Suddenly going after Murdoc felt much less impossible. "Thanks, Jack. I'm …" No, now wasn't the time for that talk. That was going to get all emotional. Later. At the firepit. Because he was sure Jack was going to be staying over, at least for a few days. He'd say his sorrys then. "Just, thanks."

Jack patted him on the shoulder. "I gotchu, kid." He nodded toward the exit. "Let's go get him."

0-0-0

The core team shared on of the large SUVs on the way over. Mac sat in the back, next to a window for the ride. He was resting his head against it and his eyes were closed, not sleeping, or even sleepy really, just exhausted and mentally preparing himself for going back in there. Jack was sitting by the other window, just giving him some space to order his thoughts and get his game face on.

Matty and Riley were talking in the rapid, finishing each other's sentences way that had become increasingly common in recent months. Bozer was in the middle row of seats along with Cage, both reviewing the plans they'd gotten for the abandoned tunnels. Jack could have been doing that too. But he was quietly keeping an eye on Mac.

He raised his eyebrows at Cage when she made her way into the back where Mac and Jack were sitting and sat between them. She swallowed hard and the face she made at Jack said she was feeling badly about something, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine what. She shifted in the seat. Mac didn't open his eyes. Cage cleared her throat. Jack smiled at how awkward it was. That was very out of character for Cage.

This time Mac opened his eyes and sat up all the way. "Hey, something come up in the blue prints?"

She cleared her throat again and Jack became very busy looking at something on his phone.

"I wanted to apologize," she began.

Mac frowned. "For what?"

"For … during the memory exercise …"

"You pushed. That's your job. You got me where I needed to go. No apologies necessary. Thank you, actually." He didn't smile, but his eyes said he meant it.

"No, I meant … when I … I touched your neck … It's meant to be a grounding technique, but you obviously …"

This time Mac did smile. "Don't worry about it. I've got a pretty big personal space bubble on my best day and I … I wasn't in a good place for … anyone in it at that moment. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Still, I'm sorry."

Mac smiled again. "Actually, it made me uncomfortable as hell. It was just what I needed to get my head back to where I needed to be, to why I was feeling like that."

She looked horrified at the idea that touching him could've made him feel that level of discomfort. "Then I definitely owed you that apology."

Mac shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that." She looked like she didn't quite believe him. "I meant, I'd had enough of being fussed over and you were the next in a long line. And I don't know you that well, so that's difficult for me anyway. But you reminded me that people who care what happens to me were just trying to help, and the guy who made me need it was still out there. It wasn't grounding I guess, but it was focusing."

"So, you don't mind me touching you then?" she smiled.

Jack had to interrupt. "I'd hold my horses if I was you, Cage. I mean, he didn't hitcha, but it takes our boy a while to warm up. I think he'd been to Christmas at my Nana's house before he ever let me give him a real hug."

"Screw you, Jack," Mac chuckled. Then he looked at Cage seriously. He chose not to answer her direct, if slightly flirtatious feeling, question. He was so not going there. And there was something about her that he couldn't quite name. He wanted to like her, wanted to trust her even. But something kept that from coming easily. He wasn't going there either. Instead he just chose to reassure her of her place on the team. "I'm just saying it wasn't anything personal, my reaction. You did a good job."

She gave a short half nod of appreciation. "I'm supposed to be good at reading people … And I misread you, misread the situation. So, I'm still sorry. Is there anything I can …"

Mac shook his head, but didn't tell her to stop apologizing. He had some apologizing of his own to do, and he knew, based on how he felt, there was no way he was going to stop just because Jack brushed him off about it. Which is definitely what Jack was going to do after everything that happened since he got back. "Just hold up your side bringing in Murdoc. That's all I need right now."

"That I can promise," she said with a little heat.

Jack's brow wrinkled as he looked at her. He had some real trust issues with Cage. He felt like he was caught in a constant game of one-upmanship with her that he hadn't agreed to play. But … that sounded like she was taking this all just a little personally. And he liked that she cared enough to apologize for putting Mac through her recall activity, even though it had obviously been necessary. He was just going to treat this as 'Situation Normal' and hope the usual filler for the rest of one of his favorite acronyms didn't make themselves necessary to use.

"Good plan. 'Cause if you're really on the team now, and not just gonna bail for another agency …"

"I'm not," she said defensively.

Mac shook his head. "Jack's teasing. It means he … Well, I'm not going to speak for him, but he doesn't tease people he hates.

"Oh," she said with another reserved smile.

Jack nodded approvingly at both of them; Cage because she clearly gave a damn what they thought, and Mac because he sounded entirely like himself now.

"It means you're in his crosshairs, too. Not a good place to be."

"So, let's flip that weapon so he's the one staring down the barrel of it," she offered with real determination.

"Oh, yeah," Jack grinned. "That's exactly what we're gonna do. But I'm not taking him quick and clean."

"Gut shot?" she asked, smirking.

"If he's lucky," Jack smirked back. Then he looked apologetically at Mac. "Sorry, kid, I know that violent stuff, isn't exactly your …"

"You want to drag him down into that room where he had me and keep him for a week, I think I'm okay with that, Jack."

"Well, now. That's a plan I could get behind."

Then the SUV slowed to a stop and Jack knew he was going to need to be in full game-faced operator mode as well as maybe helicopter dad mode when Mac paled three shades at the prospect of getting out and going in there, even though he wanted it, needed it.

Mac gripped the handle to open the car until his knuckles went white, then he just opened the door. He cleared his throat. "Let's get this over with."


	8. Chapter 8

Even the open warehouse access felt vaguely dark and creepy. Mac knew it wasn't but the feeling was almost suffocating. Jack squeezed his shoulder before they opened the doors to go into the interior, his question as to whether or not Mac could follow through with his plan to be part of this evident in his dark brown eyes, currently sharp and probing for all their warmth and concern.

Jack knew Mac would say he was fine. Fine was what Mac always said. Those eyes said they were searching for the barest indication that he wasn't. And the brain behind them was trying to decide what to do if he decided that was true that wouldn't set Mac off and make a bad situation worse.

Mac just turned on his flashlight and started moving forward, which sent Jack from worrying about how Mac was feeling to worrying about how to stay in front of him. Tactical was claiming the building was clear left and right, and Mac was pretty sure it was.

His skin wasn't just actively crawling in the way it seemed to whenever Murdoc was anywhere near. It had been happening in that … room … even before Murdoc's next level creepy whistle had announced his presence. Maybe he had what Jack would call a spidey sense when it came to Murdoc. Not that he believed in things like that, just … Well, it would be damned useful.

When they got into the enclosed part of the warehouse, Mac could see what was pretty obviously Murdoc's work station. Nope, he was not quite ready to look at that. Instead he followed one of the Tac squads toward the door he recognized as his first avenue of escape. He really planned to go down the stairs and have a good look around, but after taking a few steps down, he just let his flashlight play around the room, nodded to the squad leader and walked back out, swallowing hard.

The lock that he'd broken with his improvised hydraulic jackhammer was on the floor, and he knelt down to examine it as though it was an important piece of evidence. He just needed a minute. And, if he was honest, he kind of wanted to see how much damage he'd done to the deadbolt.

Then Riley had made it impossible to avoid Murdoc's work table any further. The team started converging on it. Mac forced his feet to move toward it. He could see, even from across the dark room, various tools, a blowtorch, and then upon closer approach, medical, even surgical, and dental tools and implements, and drugs, so many drugs, pills, syringes … Mac could feel his breathing picking up again as he got closer.

He tried not to take it in quite as deeply as he did, but some of those labels were easy to read. There were definitely sedatives there, anesthetics even. But there were also stimulants, amphetamines; the stuff that made sure you couldn't pass out no matter what someone was doing to you and that kept you alive deep into shock. He swayed on his feet for a just a second, feeling a little like he might just need to sit down on the floor. He got on top of it, but it wasn't easy. He'd never wanted to hug Bozer quite so hard as when his friend called them over to look at Murdoc's latest love note.

The note was easy to deal with. Creepy cryptic notes were part of Murdoc's MO. Mac was almost used to them by now. When Matty ordered the rest of the team to tear the place apart, he moved off to do just that, but Matty called him back over to where she was standing. "Where are you going, Blondie?"

"With Jack," he answered as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I thought you might be able to shed some light on what some of this stuff might have been for," Matty said, indicating Murdoc's gruesome display of torture. Mac's eyes swept the table, and he quickly looked away. "No, I don't think so. Other than the standard tool box stuff … I got a C in biology, Matty, and I only go to Medical when you order me there. One of the Medics would probably be a lot more help."

Then he spun on his heel before Matty could say much else, "Hey, Jack, wait up!" and he jogged off after his partner, wanting to head out into one of the more open areas, even if it was just for a few minutes. He stuck pretty close to Jack after that, for a few minutes at least.

Tactical was sweeping the corners, trying to sift through the evidence in … the torture room … there was probably a better technical word for it, but that was all Mac's usually eloquent brain could come up with at the moment for him. Then he glanced around and realized he didn't see Cage anywhere. His eyes swept the teams more carefully.

She was dressed in her civvies like the rest of the team, having eschewed tactical gear for mobility and she wasn't with any of the visible units. _Damn it._ No longer quite so reluctant on his own behalf, Mac leaned in the door way of the torture room to see if she'd made her way down there. _Nothing. Son of a bitch._

He broke away from the main group and started looking around. He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who clearly hadn't noticed him adventuring off on this own. Good. He didn't need Jack getting all protective right now. Another team member had gone MIA with Murdoc in the wind. He felt slightly panicked at the idea of the killer grabbing any of them.

He took off at a trot, trying to figure out where she could have gotten to, hoping he'd find more than an empty room somewhere or a cell phone with a cryptic message waiting for him. He didn't know Cage well, or even particularly trust her yet. But she was on the team, and that meant she was one of his, just like it had with the rest of his squad the first damned day of Basic.

Then he heard the gunshot and a pained scream. He took off at a sprint in the direction of the sound, hearing the footsteps of some of the Tac team following, hoping he wouldn't find a body instead of just an injured teammate. He thundered, "Cage," when he saw her lying on the floor, and his run became a sprint.

She was conscious when he got there only seconds later, much to his relief, and she wasn't swimming in a pool of her blood, but sometimes, that didn't mean anything in the first few seconds. Sometimes it meant the heart wasn't pumping the way it should.

When he tore her shirt away he sighed with immediate relief. Cage was a practice what she preached kind of agent. Underneath her seemingly casual button up, was one of the flexible tactical vests. Still her breathing was ragged. He called for a medic and moved her out of the windowed warehouse area before Murdoc could have more fun. Cage was right, he hadn't left her alive by accident. _What was his game?_

0-0-0

Mac got Cage to the medic, the caught up with the Tax team Jack had taken point on to give them a quick brief on his mental calculations on bullet trajectory and likely points of origin of the shot. Refining them slightly when he pried the slug out of Cage's vest and got a better look at the caliber and the condition it was in.

He knew some of it was guesswork here, especially because he didn't have specs for the new vests in front of him, but here a guess was better than a blind search, as his mathematical approximation of where'd he'd been held in captivity had proven. Then he attempted to follow them in their search.

He'd thought if anything would have kept him from it, it would have been Jack getting over protective. The looks his partner kept giving him said he wasn't buying Mac's 'I'm fine' façade 100%. And Mac figured that was fair since it was at least 50% bullshit. However, it turned out compassion was the thing that kept him just offering support and suggestions via video call and radio. Cage was a lot more shaken than he expected her to be. She was better once she was out of the vest and the medic had reassured her he didn't think she'd broken anything, but her eyes kept flicking to Mac, so he just stayed nearby.

He didn't think that was terribly supportive, but it was the best he could do without feeling massively awkward and he knew sometimes, just knowing someone who cared whether or not you lived or died, and whether or not you were miserable nearby made all the difference. It surely had for him a few hours ago when Jack had been sticking to him like glue at Medical.

However, Mac had had about enough of playing supportive teammate. He also didn't like the way the medic kept looking at him like maybe Matty or Jack had told him he needed an eye kept on him. So, when Jack and the Tac team came back in, Mac joined them for their report and was determined to go back out with them. If for no other reason than to get the hell out of this building and breathe free air again for a few minutes.

Jack could see exactly where Mac was at. And honestly, he hadn't liked leaving him here. Besides, having each other's backs was what they did. And he felt better in the field when Mac was with him. But Matty put the brakes on Mac going out. Since she hadn't come down on them for Mac leaving Medical to come out here, Jack decided not to argue. He saw Mac's eyeroll, but noticed he wisely decided to stay quiet and just comply, too.

Mac didn't really mind being asked to stick around and do something more in line with his skill set than supporting Tactical, but he wished Matty had set up shop somewhere other than right by Murdoc's … work table. He felt his eyes carefully avoiding the bench, and he tried to force himself to look, to end its power over him, but found he wasn't there yet, wasn't anywhere near there yet.

Mac was also trying not to notice how protective Matty's tone had gotten around him, and he couldn't quite meet Riley's eye because clearly she had noticed it, too. When she ordered the medic out to get his portable x-ray rig, she sounded like a parent yelling at an older sibling for hoarding a preferred toy.

Of course, Riley had also noticed how carefully Mac wasn't looking left or right as he moved through the room. He wanted to solve this and get out so he could stop thinking about what happened to him. She would do what she could to make that happen as fast as she could for him. She thought it was pretty badass that he was here at all, but he looked like he wanted to puke or pass out at least every third time she looked at him. And that was way out of character for Mac.

"I, uh, I can't believe I'm about to say this," Mac stammered, trying to sound light and unconcerned. "But I need to go back into the room Murdoc planned to kill me in, and turn out all the lights."

The rest of the team follow, both glad Jack wasn't there to freak out about it, and sort of wishing he was because if it messed with Mac's head half as much as they thought it would, Jack would be who Mac would want around. Fortunately the x-ray emitter worked perfectly, and Mac was pretty sure the exposure was minimal.

There was a moment of elation when the identified the intended target of Murdoc's next hit, followed quickly by confusion when they realized the guy was a school teacher.

Mac was the one to raise Jack on the radio. "Hey Jack, come on back in, we're moving on some actionable intel asap and I know if I go without you," he paused.

"You're grounded?"

"Jackass." Mac laughed. "You'd be pissed. So, shag your ass back here. We're moving out in five. Wait until you see who Murdoc's after next."

"President, embassy staff, Justin Timberlake?" Jack guessed trying to be funny.

"A fifth-grade teacher, dude."

"That's just weird enough to worry me," Jack quipped.

"Me, too. Hurry up."


	9. Chapter 9

The ride into Garden Grove in separate cars gave Jack a much-needed chance to check back in with Mac again. "How you holdin' up, Mac?"

Mac opened his mouth to answer but Jack stopped him in his best parental parody, since he thought what Mac really needed more than anything else was a moment of levity.

"And if you just say I'm fine again, I swear I will pull this car over and turn it around and head straight back to Phoenix."

He got what he wanted, since Mac chuckled. "I'm … can't say I'm fine, which I totally am … hmmm … synonyms, synonyms … well, acceptable, satisfactory, okay, good, reasonable, adequate, sufficient … functioning within expected parameters?"

Jack laughed. "Alright, smartass. Now tell me how you're doin' really," Jack prompted as he made another turn.

Mac shrugged and looked out the window. "Sore, tired, pissed off, kinda hungover … sick of Murdoc's shit. But also basically fine, all things considered, Jack." Mac looked at him with a sincere expression. "Really. It's good to be out here helping."

"Makes sense to me," Jack said. He didn't point out that scared as hell was still pretty high on the list of what the kid was feeling, and he wouldn't. But it made him glad he'd just pushed for Mac to be able to be out here on the field team, helping bring Murdoc in, or at least throw a monkey wrench into the jackwagon's plan. Captivity had a way of making you feel out of control, feel violated, and torture … well, that added some not so great layers to an already complicated psychological mess.

Mac had never been one for therapy, but maybe this time, Jack would make some headway with that particular suggestion. The look in the kid's eyes said this was going to make flashbacks from the war look like a stroll on the beach.

However, Jack did notice that as they approached their destination and there was something to focus on other than himself, how he was feeling, and what happened to him, Mac's game face was firmly back in place. His previous slightly pained and tentative expression was replaced with one that was mission ready, and also filled with compassion for the man whose life they were about to flip upside down because somehow, in some way, like Mac, he'd run afoul of a killer, quite possibly by simple association.

That expression stayed firmly in place until everything went completely sideways. Then Jack saw the expression come back the reassured him that no matter what went down from here on out, no matter how many nightmares or bad moments his partner might have because of his time underground with Murdoc, the kid was going to be fine.

In the midst of the chase, firefight going on around him, Mac got that half-grin while he worked on solving the problem that said he was, in spite of everything, having a little bit of fun, and part of him, even if it was a small part, just wanted to know if he could beat the other guy.

When the rest of the team arrived and were batting cleanup, Jack was tying up the loose ends on Tactical and Cage was preparing the prisoner for secure transport back to Phoenix. Mac just stood in front of the vehicle, eyes scanning the scene, mind turning over the situation like a worry stone.

When Jack came around the front of the tactical vehicle saying they were ready to clear out, they were finally alone. Mac knew now wasn't a great time. But he also knew they were going to be tied up at the debrief for hours, and that heaven only knew whether or not Matty, or Jack, or Dr. P or some diabolical combination of the above including all of, would insist on another trip through Medical before they let him go home for the day since no one had really officially discharged him to begin with. He would do this properly later. Over the fire pit. With food and beer and a real talk about what exactly was behind all the bullshit he'd pulled lately. But he couldn't hold onto it anymore.

Knowing his voice sounded too tight, he went ahead anyway. "I should've said this earlier, but I'm sorry."

Jack wasn't about to tell the kid about his drugged-up heartfelt apology earlier. Not because he wanted another apology, but because Mac would be embarrassed that he'd let himself be so vulnerable. So, he just smiled a little. "For what? The whole 'lie to your best friend and put yourself in danger for no good reason thing?"

Mac was so agreeable, Jack just reaffirmed his commitment to being there for Mac, then he teased him a little about the helicopter parenting thing again. And reminded him, feeling himself getting a little choked up, though he hadn't meant to, that that was what families were for.

Both men sensed that this was a conversation probably better left for the privacy of Mac's back deck and lightened it up a little, though they both knew they weren't finished. The they just climbed into the transport. Cage chose to ride along with the apprehended assassin to assess his body language, facial expressions, and anything he might say for later use, and Jack chose to drive, knowing Mac was still not feeling one hundred percent.

For his own part, Mac felt back on top of things, but the five-point harness, that feeling of restraint, was making him uncomfortable, fidgety, well more fidgety than usual. It's not like he was ever still. Jack actually chided him a few times for playing with his seat belt like a little kid, "Leave those damned buckles alone, Mac. What if we flipped this thing?"

Mac had gotten to a place where he couldn't tolerate being confined to the seat anymore right before he RPG hit their transport. In fact, he thought later, that it might have been worse it he'd still been in the harness.

He wouldn't have been looking where he was if he hadn't been unhooking himself, if he hadn't been about to ask Jack to pull over so he could have a minute outside the vehicle to get on top of an unexpected surge of panic that a rusty metallic smell from the floor had caused. He wouldn't have called out a warning to Jack who braked and made a slight course correction that minimized the damage to the front of the vehicle where he and Jack were.

Cage was okay. She knew she was okay the minute the vehicle came to a stop. She didn't feel great, but she had some bruised ribs from the round she'd taken earlier. Her head felt fine. She cut herself free from her harness to start helping her teammates and making sure the prisoner was secure. But somehow, he'd picked the lock on his cuffs. _With what?_ she thought to herself furiously.

When Murdoc approached the vehicle she went still, well, almost still, her hand started to move slowly down her leg to find her back-up piece. She wouldn't give the bastard a reason to hurt them, but if he made a move, she's happily splatter his brains all over the pavement if she could manage it.

Jack had already cut himself free of his harness, despite a pounding head and freely bleeding temple. If Mac thought he'd met helicopter dad Jack before, he hadn't seen anything compared to the lecture he was mentally preparing as he extricated himself from the rubble of the vehicle.

 _Who takes of a harness, mid-transport? Ugh!_ Jack was furious. Then he slowed himself down. _Someone who was tied up and tortured that's who, Jackass._ When he pulled himself free he had a moment of complete irrational panic.

Mac's eyes were closed.

Then Jack got painfully to his knees and checked Mac's pulse. It was slow and steady. Just down for the count, that was all. Jack got on his radio and Matty had unit deployed to their area almost immediately. Jack could hear the whump-whump-whump of the helicopter blades so fast it skewed his sense of time.

Jack and Cage, both with their fair share of aches and pains, but no real injuries and no real issues heading into this afternoon, teamed up, committed to the same goal for the first time to free Mac from where he was trapped under the bent metal that had been the structural integrity of the cab.

He groaned a little when the levered the bar off his already bruised ribs, but never made a sound when they freed his feet. Then they waited. When the various ambulances got there to take them back to Phoenix, Cage went along with the medics with no argument. Jack was a different story. He fought tooth and nail to travel with the still unconscious Mac. He also got in the way of their treatment of his zonked-out partner. Finally, Matty had to be called.

"Matty, tell 'em no," Jack insisted.

"You're a medic now, Dalton?" Mattty asked almost sternly, just wanting what was best for her people.

"No, but I have enough training to know he'll be okay until we get back to HQ, just like I will be, and bein' in a little box, stabbed in the arm, all out of it and hurtin' … It's not …"

"Not good. Okay. Everyone in the medical transport, stand down, barring a code. I've got med staff on standby that hopefully won't trigger our boy. Get him here. A-Sap."

0-0-0

Mac attempted to bolt upright and reach out and tear at the poking in his arm. When he was unable, it wrung a pained, almost animal noise from him. Somehow restrained and loud, panicked and subdued, pained and resigned to whatever was happening to him.

"Hey, hey, now," Jack said, sitting up in the stiff recliner next to the bed, and leaning toward him. "There you are. I was real worried for a little bit."

Mac didn't even hesitate, didn't relax or tense, didn't struggle or release. He just made eye contact with Jack. "Let me go."

Jack nodded. "Of course."

Jack got up moving slowly, clearly more than a little dinged up himself. Mac could count about fifteen stitches over Jack's eye that he'd be taking out in a week or so since Jack wouldn't come back in to let staff do it. Mac hated Medical because he had strong associations about his childhood, about his mom. Jack was more complicated, but Mac just didn't ask. He assumed it was valid and tried to help.

God, a god he didn't even believe in, he hated this place so much. When Jack had released him from all the Velcro keeping him immobile, Mac looked at the IV in his arm with something resembling dread. Then, the part of him that had kept him obeying the rules in the Army, for DXS, and for Phoenix be damned, he pulled it out of his arm gasping slightly when that stung more than he thought it would.

Mac pressed his hand to his inner arm. "Well what'd you think would happen?" Jack asked, half irritated, half amused.

Mac shrugged, blood squeezing between his fingers. "I just want to go home, Jack." His eyes narrowed for a minute. Jack had maybe been hurt in Murdoc's onslaught, but he at least had his clothes. "Please take me home." He took a shuddering breath. "I just want to talk. But not here."


	10. Chapter 10

Jack decided maybe he ought to give the new nurse the benefit of the doubt instead of holding the grudge he'd planned on hanging onto until Kingdom Come for all the stabbing she'd done to him after the whole frostbite incident never to be spoken of again.

Instead of arguing with Mac when she came into his room after he'd set off the alarm pulling out his IV she just turned around and got things to bandage him up. To Mac's credit, he just let her. When she was finished up, she finally asked, "How are you feeling?"

Mac just flashed a million-watt smile, "Like I want my clothes?"

She had to smile back. "I meant physically."

"Me, too," he persisted. "Much less dressed than I'd like to be for the trip home. If Jack's got a concussion, we'll let someone else drive us. Promise."

She shook her head. "You know there's a permanent note on your chart that says 'stubborn' and something about 'dangerous disregard for his own well-being' right? … Did I mention stubborn?"

Now Mac grinned with more genuine humor. "It's a character flaw. I'm not going to work on it."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll go get the doctor. He's keeping Agent Cage for observation and I know he wants you and Agent Dalton here until morning as well. It's him you have to convince."

Mac's eyebrows went up. _Him who?_ they asked.

"Foster," she answered with a smirk as she left, saving her chuckle at his not exactly under his breath swearing. "I'll notify Director Webber that you're ready for visitors as well," was not an addition that reduced his desire to swear.

"How long was I out?" he asked Jack, knowing it was long enough for shift change at Medical.

Jack just grinned. "Long enough for me to go get your duffle bag out of your locker when nobody was paying attention." Jack dropped Mac's bag of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Mac was out of bed and headed into the attached bathroom so fast, Jack was wondering if Mac even processed that he was actually a little banged up. Probably not. He'd have to get him to take it easy once he got him home. And he was taking him home.

He didn't care what Matty or Dr. House (so nicknamed by him and Mac not because he was particularly good but because he was a know-it-all and grumpy with everyone just about all the time and walked with a limp the head nurse -who they thought was nearly as cantankerous- was more than half sure was psychosomatic, said. Mac wanted home, so that's what Mac was going to get after the day or so he'd just put in.

When Mac came out of the bathroom, he was texting someone, glancing around, and already half grinning at Jack. "You ready to bust out of here with me?"

"You already got us a car?"

"Ri's out front."

"Does she know this is an escape plan and not an authorized ride home?"

"Not even a little bit. But she'll figure it out. Not like it'd be the first rule she ever broke. It's good to stay in practice," Mac grinned.

Jack checked the hallway, and finding their way still clear, he nodded at Mac and the two of them slipped out and headed for Mac's place. While Mac was in front of him, Jack got out his phone and sent a very strongly worded text to Matty, that also included an apology for once again flouting protocol today, but with the justification that Mac really needed to be home, to be in control. Her reply was a thumbs up, followed by, 'Call if you need anything.'

0-0-0

Mac seemed to be enjoying the idea that he'd staged another daring escape, this one from Phoenix rather than Murdoc's underground hellhole, so Jack just let him have the illusion. When Mac saw there was a security detail posted around his house he grumbled under his breath, but didn't say anything aloud.

When they walked into the house, Jack realized he'd owed Matty a very expensive bottle of something. She'd called Bozer and made like she was upset so Boze would freak out on them. This wasn't Bozer acting. Sometimes he wanted to straight up quit his job and take Mac with him, other times he dearly loved Matilda Webber. Today was one of those latter times. Bozer had unleashed a solid minute of overprotective Mama Bozer fury and Mac was just holding up his hands defensively, saying, "Boze, I'm fine, honestly,"

Bozer interrupted. "Fine? You always say you're fine, Mac! Your mom died? You're fine! Dad left on your damned birthday? You're fine! Enlisted for no good reason? Fine! CO gets blown up? Fine! You get shot in the chest? Fine! You get kidnapped and tortured by the same psychopath that already tried to kill both of us right in this house …"

"Bozer," Jack said, his voice low. "That's enough now." He was glad Boze was selling the escape bit for him, but he wasn't gonna let him keep going and actually upset Mac was his overdramatic nonsense. "Mac's alright. I'm here with him and if anything goes wrong you know I'm the last person on earth who'll let it slide. But he wants to be home right now. And he wants some space."

Mac just shook his head and disappeared into his bedroom. It was late, and he wasn't going to say so out loud, but he sort of hurt all over. Sweats and t-shirt were all he wanted. Soft ones. That were too big. Maybe ones he'd appropriated from Jack a while back.

"So?" Bozer asked almost aggressively, clearly in a lather of worry, and also still upset over Murdoc having impinged on what he saw as his home territory again.

"So go to bed. Or go to the bar. Or go play X-Box over at that cute new computer tech's house. But give Mac a minute to breathe woudja?"

"But you're staying?" Bozer raised a single eyebrow.

"'Course I'm stayin'," Jack said, knowing he was stating the obvious.

"Why do you always get to stay and I have to …"

"Because, annoying little brothers who don't know when to shut up get banished and …"

"And Dad gets to stay and make sure everything is okay?" Bozer's expression was ever more skeptical.

"Hey a substitute helicopter parent …"

"Is better than one who's been gone for sixteen years. Yeah. Okay." Bozer sighed. "Maybe I will just go to bed. That way at least I'll be around if you fools need someone to drive you back to Medical."

"I'd have to be dyin' Boze," Mac joked, breezing by on his way to the fridge, doing his best to hide the slight limp he was discovering now that he'd been up on his feet for a while. He'd bruised his ankles up pinned in that truck, he supposed.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Bozer huffed, and practically stomped off toward his room, mumbling about stubborn roommates and their enabler surrogate parents who were almost as bad, not even close to quietly before slamming his door.

Mac was rifling around in the fridge and he called over his shoulder. "If you're staying …" He paused for Jack's indignant puff of breath that meant he was obviously staying. "Your stuff is still in the spare room. It's just all in the dresser instead of in the duffle bags. The bags were driving Boze nuts."

"Alright," Jack nodded at Mac's back. Comfortable clothes and settling in for the night sounded good. "Be right back."

Jack wasn't gone for very long, but Mac worked fast. The lights were all off, but one low LED for safety and he was out on the deck, a fire already started. Mac was a whiz at a lot of things and getting a fire going with startling speed was one of them.

He had confessed to Jack recently though that he'd just invested in a small handheld torch for out here on the deck and he kept it under his chair. Worked fast, and hey, in an emergency, it could double as a weapon.

Jack sat down in the deck chair next to Mac. He looked into the fire so Mac wouldn't feel like he was already prying. "Okay. Now you're home and I've soothed the savage Bozer." Mac snickered quietly. "Time to fess up. How you feeling, really? And this time don't 'fine' me. For real, brother."

Mac sighed. He got up off the chair and got closer to the fire, sitting cross legged on the floor next to it, letting its heat bake into him. It wasn't cold here, not really, but it was a cool fall night, and he ached down into his bones. Jack joined him, sitting very close. Mac didn't move away. "Not fine. Not even at all, Jack."

Mac glanced at him, but Jack didn't say anything, just reached out an arm, offering to put it around Mac, but not forcing the issue. Surprising him, Mac gave a small nod and Jack pulled him into his side. Mac sucked in his breath. "Hurtin'?"

Mac nodded. "Some," he admitted. "How about you?"

"Feel like we kind of almost got blown up, yeah." They sat that way for a few minutes. "You're kind of warm, Mac. If you start showing signs of a fever …"

"My arm's not infected Jack. I'm sitting next to the fire. Don't start." Mac threw him a half-hearted glare, but he didn't sound like he had the energy to be irritated. Jack had half a mind to feel his forehead just to make a point, but decided against it. To change the subject, Mac asked, "Want something to drink?"

"I know you're gonna yell at me for fussin' at you, but no beer. You don't know if you've still got any of that garbage Murdoc gave you still in your system. Seriously now."

Mac smiled and shook his head and reached behind them for the water bottled he'd brought out for them. "I already knew you were gonna say that."

Mac usually opened things with his right hand, but when he tried, the irritated nerves from Murdoc driving that needle in so deep robbed his hand of its usual strength and sent a shooting pain up his arm while at the same time making his fingers feel cold and numb. "God damn it," he hissed. He moved to switch hands, but Jack moved his arm off Mac's shoulders, took the bottled, opened it and handed it back.

They sat sipping water in silence for a little while. Finally, Mac cleared his throat. "I know you said we're okay and whatever, but … I really am sorry, Jack."

Jack nodded. "I'm sorry, too, kid."

Mac frowned in confusion. "What the hell for?"

Jack chuckled. "Assuming I knew what was good for ya, tellin' you to get ahold of your dad to begin with. And pushin' like I did when I found you in Paris. You didn't need me to play a game of gotcha just then. Or acting like it was a joke like I do sometimes when I don't know what else to do."

"Don't do that, Jack. Don't take responsibility for me being a jerk to you."

Jack's arm went around Mac again, this time without any warning or unasked question, but Mac leaned against his friend gratefully. When he'd been in that basement ... he swallowed hard.

"Jack, when M …" He took a shuddering breath. Son of a bitch. He felt pretty close to crying and he also felt like if he started he wasn't ever going to stop. He bit down on the urge as hard as he could. "When _he_ had me …"

"Bud, you do not have to talk about this." Jack squeezed his shoulders gently.

"I do. I do, though," Mac insisted. He stared into the fire. "I told him he could torture me … that all that would do was give you time to find me."

Jack bit his lip, pretty sure he was going to start bawling like a kid. Mac had been so sure he'd being coming for him, and he'd been so ready to give up, to just admit defeat when the trail seemed to go cold. He knew that wasn't really true, knew he'd been out of his mind, ready to try anything, but knowing was one thing. How it _felt_ was something else. "Ah, bud. I'm so damned sorry you went through …"

"He smiled at me then," Mac went on like Jack hadn't spoken. "He said you weren't coming. That he was certain of it."

Mac could feel himself shaking just a little and he wanted more than anything to stop, but he knew there was nothing for it, so he didn't even bother trying to control it. He was with Jack, who hadn't even judged him harshly for treating him like the hired help in Paris. He certainly wasn't going to judge a normal reaction to what had happened to him today … yesterday … whatever.

"I was so sure he was going to say he'd killed you … I … and that it was my fault … and I … It would have

been … after I sent you away in Paris … and …"

"Hey, hey, Mac, it's okay." Jack had both arms around his partner now. "We're both okay. And we're gonna get the bastard, right?"

"Yeah, but …"

"But, nothing, kid. And if he had gotten the drop on me, that'd be on me, not you. Okay?"

Mac wasn't even close to rational right now, and Jack figured for someone like Mac that had to be the worst part of this. Worse that being hurt, or tired, or drugged, or even kidnapped and tortured. Traumatic events did stuff to your brain. Mac liked his brain to work a certain way.

"I know that … I mean, like part of me knows that … But I dreamed …" he trailed off. Mac had promised himself that he wouldn't share his dream. Just saying that part out loud allowed a few tears to escape and slip down his cheeks. God, he hated crying. Almost as much as he hated throwing up. And way more than he hated bleeding. Yeah, he thought, he'd definitely rather bleed than cry.

"That's what you were dreaming when I had such a hard time waking you up in Medical yesterday afternoon," Jack observed quietly.

Mac shrugged just enough that Jack felt it under the arm he still had around Mac. With his free hand, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. Instead of some blustering reassurance about how he would live forever, or some dumb-assed joke designed to keep from revealing what he was really feeling, Jack just took a deep breath. "I get it, kid. I do." Mac glanced at him. There were tears in Jack's voice, too. "I've told ya about all the silly dreams I have about dyin', right?"

Mac nodded almost ruefully. "Yeah."

"See, the thing is, I don't really dream about that much. I mean, sometimes. But, not really in the grand scheme of things, I guess."

"You don't?"

"Nah, kid. It's like whistling in the dark. Like when I joke around about stuff that's not really jokeable."

"You mean always?" Mac said with an affectionate lilt in his voice that Jack was pleased to hear sounded just a little less upset. He almost hated to be honest now.

"Pretty much." Jack nodded. "But see, even though I don't really dream about myself dying all that much, I do have nightmares a lot."

"I know, Jack. We sleep in the same places a lot. We wake each other up all the time."

"Yeah, we do, bud, we do at that." Jack sighed. "The worst ones I have are about something happening to you. What happened today? That's happened in my worst nightmares a thousand times. And in all those dreams I don't get you back. Makes it hard to go to sleep sometimes." Jack reached up and brushed a few errant tears off his face like they were flies on a hot day.

That information undid Mac completely. He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms over them, buried his head in them, and cried. For what had happened today, the pain he was in, hell for hurting Jack, taking him for granted, for not having his real father around for almost two decades, and for not noticing that he'd had a damned good one in spite of that for the better part of the last ten years.

And mostly just because he needed to, and almost never let himself.

Jack just sat with him, one hand resting lightly on Mac's back, letting him know he was there, but not imposing. After a while, Mac's emotional tsunami tapered off and he sat up, face puffy, looking slightly miserable and sniffling. Jack reached into his hoodie pocket and handed Mac a large, neatly folded stack of tissues. Mac started laughing through the last of his tears. "You knew I was gonna do that, didn't you?"

"Having tissues at the ready is one of the primary jobs of your first class helicopter parent," Jack nodded sagely. "And losing your shit is kind of inevitable in the … afterness of a bad day of that level of badness. Ya dig?"

"Afterness of a bad day of badness …" Mac shook his head, chuckling, even as he blew his nose about twenty times and tossed the tissues into the fire pit. They stated into the fire some more. Mac knew he probably wasn't done crying over this. He also probably wasn't done apologizing. And Jack probably wasn't done explaining to Mac just exactly how parental he was going to be either. But Mac was pretty sure he could live with all three. Suddenly, he yawned.

"Tired, kid?" Jack asked, looking Mac over carefully. Mac nodded, looking about as exhausted as a person can and still be upright at all. "You want to go in and go to bed?"

Mac shook his head. The idea of being alone in his room was singularly unappealing. "Nah. The fire's nice," he said as a stall.

Jack gave a little crooked, knowing smile. "So, we could see the fire from the living room if we went in and crashed on the couches. You sleep on one, I'll sleep on one. We could leave the TV on if you wanted …"

Mac nodded, refusing to get choked up at Jack's thoughtfulness again.

Jack got to his feet. "Here I'll help you up."

Mac started to stretch up his not totally sore arm, then he remembered something. "Hang on a sec!"

He took an envelope out from under his deck chair, tore off the top, and grinned up at Jack. "I almost forgot. This was sort of part of my warm beer apology. Since you've made it very clear there's to be no warm beer tonight …" Mac tossed the envelope into the fire.

At first nothing happened, but after a moment, the flames started dancing with vibrant colors; violet, cool blue, green, red, orange, bright yellow, even sparkling white.

"When the hell were you gonna tell me you went to Hogwarts instead of Mission City High?" Jack asked, grinning, but also sounding a little awestricken.

Mac was now smiling from ear to ear. "I knew you'd love it. It's just some metal salts I brought home from the lab. I'm surprised you never saw it before, back in school … You never did the Flame Test Lab, like in high school chem?"

"Mac, I told you, I barely passed that stuff. I was a social sciences and sports guy. But you have me wishing I hadn't cut lab days so much," Jack's expression was like a kid on Christmas morning, Mac thought. He was glad he'd had the idea.

As the colors faded, Jack held out his hand again. Mac groaned as he got to his feet. "I'm fine!" he hurried to assure Jack before his partner could even ask. Jack almost laughed.

"I think we've already established that I'll be the judge of that," Jack teased.

After they were settled on the couches, Mac lay there for a long time, playing with his phone instead of closing his eyes.

"You should get some rest," Jack said for probably the fifth time.

Mac huffed a sigh. "Yes, dad."

"You can get all resentful, but you told me I could helicopter parent you and I'm calling no backsies."

"Can anyone who uses the phrase no backsies be any kind of parent?"

"Clearly, they can, because I just did."

Mac laughed. Then he sighed again. "Thank you, Jack."

"For what?"

"For … you know … all of it."

Jack smiled. "Always, kid."


End file.
